


Depths of Despair

by YinNocturne



Series: The Nameless Anthology [1]
Category: The Raven - Edgar Allan Poe
Genre: Bad Coping Methods, Depression, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implications of insanity resulting from the death of a loved one, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 03:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2567108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YinNocturne/pseuds/YinNocturne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Raven did not move one inch, still he sits above my door, his shadows firmly affixed over my soul. His cry ‘Nevermore’ forever resonates in my ears and echoes within the depths of my mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Depths of Despair

**Author's Note:**

> This was also done for my Media project, the inclusion of the poem itself is probably what got me to my min time limit. On that note, if you want to skip the poem, it's about half of the document. Again, many thanks to my mum for helping with editing. And to Vecna, who many months ago replied to me complaining on tumblr with a recording of 'Nevermore's', and sparked this whole idea, and then helped edit and got roped into reading more lines...
> 
> Warnings:  
> Canon typical death, bad coping skills, grief/mourning, implied mental instability. Basically, by the end the narrator is kind of insane with grief and depression.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

“’Tis some visiter,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—

           Only this and nothing more.”

 

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

           Nameless here for evermore.

 

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

“’Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door—

Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;—

           This it is and nothing more.”

 

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—

           Darkness there and nothing more.

 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—

           Merely this and nothing more.

 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;

     Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—

           ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—

           Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”

           Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

 

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

           With such name as “Nevermore.”

 

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—

Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”

           Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

           Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

 

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

           Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,

But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,

           She shall press, ah, nevermore!

 

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee

Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”

           Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

 

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—

On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—

Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”

           Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

 

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”

           Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

 

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—

“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”

           Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

 

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

           Shall be lifted—nevermore!

 

* * *

The Depths of Despair

I reach out for the candle stick, pulling it closer to the page. The cramped script wavers in and out of focus as the flame gutters with my every exhale. Hypnotised by the flitting shadows and the faltering focus of my eyes, my head bows deeper, my mind falling closer and closer to sleep… Then! A tap, tap, a-tapping; so soft I would almost swear it was imagined. But on this night of all nights, it is getting to me. I cannot help it, my search seems only to take me further away from my goal. I can no longer see a path forward.

The fire, long since spent, does nothing to combat the deep winter’s chill that sinks through my skin and into my bones. Fitting, is it not, that my physical body should mirror my mental state. My tomes and scrolls offer no warmth or hope to push out the cold that leeches everything from me. The light of my dear Lenore has dimmed to the faintest ghostly embers. As the memory of her, dying with each passing second, her last breath slipping from her body as it lay lax in my arms, it consumes me.

The tapping comes again, pulling me out of the depths of my mind. Ears pricked, poised on the edge of my chair the rustling of the curtains fills my ears and drowns out every sound, except the deafening, sickening thud of my every heartbeat. A metronomic pulse that reminds me every single second that I am alive… when she is no longer graced by the gift that I would so willingly give up for her. With a trembling hand, I pick up the candlestick.

‘Some visitor, this is, who comes so late, in this time of such grief.’ I shuffle toward the door to my chambers.

‘Truly, visitor, I mean no offence, but the hour is late, and I was close to sleep…’ I only keep to the barest of courtesies, but I need not have bothered, my words echo in the still, black night. There is no soul in sight; it seems my only company comes from within the illusions of my mind. I am lost in this darkness, in a gloom so thick it is unbroken even by the candle that I hold clasped loose in my hand. But still my mind keeps searching for some reason, some sign… anything!

‘Lenore!’ whether this first utterance comes from my mouth or another’s I cannot tell, but I know that I return the call, ‘Lenore!’ My lover’s name bursts from my lips, reverent and rapturous. She does not appear though, foolish of me to hope such a thing. And no being comes forth to offer any explanation.

With my heart aching fiercely within my chest, I return to my books. But my mind will not settle; my thoughts are rippling and restless beneath my skin. Soon the tapping comes yet again, maddeningly soft, and delicate almost. One could almost think it was just the wind or the branches of the oak outside my window lattice. ‘I have been tricked once this night, the wind will not make a fool of me again.’ But even as I affirm this, my certainty is flawed, my heart wonders if perhaps, there is any chance at all that it could be…

“Mind over matter” they say, but I have never found it so easy. Yet again my heart has won out over my mind, so I fling open the shutter. And along with the icy night air in steps a Raven, proud and bold with a regally arched neck and glossy black feathers. He gives no thought to manners, he doesn’t stop a second on the threshold of my domain. Rather, he wings his way to rest upon the bust of Pallas that sits above my door.

So consumed by this Raven am I that my mind leaves behind the grief for a short time. I have wandered those pointless pathways for countless hours pouring over every skerrick and scrap of information, lore and heresy I could find. Fact or fiction, truth or rumour it matters not. But this ghastly, grim creature that now perches without a care above my door has dragged my mind away from its ruminations and recriminations.

‘Do tell me, lordly Raven, what is the name you answer to, on this night of such sorrow?’ And I marvel, for in plain English, he replies, ‘Nevermore’ he says a croaking, rasping cry that clearly comes from his beak. The relevancy of his statement, I do not ponder long, consumed by the far greater amazement of his clear speech.

But no matter what other questions I plied him with, the only reply he ever gave was ‘Nevermore’. An unending, incessant repetition of that one melancholy word, and yet again my heart sinks back into the blackness that is my life now and the Raven sits unruffled on his perch above my door, eyes flitting about the room without a care.

‘This Raven will fly before long, just as my hopes and all my other companions have before him.’ Why should this bird be any different, it seems this is my fate after all, to be left behind.

Yet again the Raven croaks ‘Nevermore’, startled I return to the present.

‘No doubt, it speaks the only word it knows!’ Pitying, now that I am sure I know his secret. ‘What cruel fates must have befallen its master to have the bird repeat such a melancholic word?’ But my curiosity returns to him nonetheless and I drag my chair to sit in the entranceway. As I study the ominous bird that is sat on the bust above my door, as unmoving as ice, my mind returns to the Raven’s catch cry ‘Nevermore’. Wondering what kind of omen this bird maybe, what further message he might give, or meaning I may have missed. Even in transparency, the Raven is still a mystery.

His gaze on me grows stronger still until it begins to burn in my core like ice cold fire, I close my eyes, trying to avoid the Raven’s piercing – knowing - gaze. I lean back into the chair and as I do my hand brushes against the plush velvet lining. So quickly the memories suck me back, far into the depths of my mind, lured by thoughts of my beautiful Lenore.

As if opening the door in my mind to my memories of her calls her spirit to the world of flesh and blood; the air thickens. The scent of her perfume drifts through the room filling my senses and clouding my mind even further.

‘Why do you taunt me so? With the presence of my lost love, who I can no longer touch? Please… give me respite.’ My pleas receive no answer, not even a shifting of feathers from my avian visitor. Truly, the only respite I get is with nepenthe. My emotions overwhelming me I turn to the Raven, perhaps he will give me answers, even if God will not.

‘Whether you are a prophet or a devil, Raven, tell me, is there hope? Will the ragged edges of my soul ever be soothed?’ I can feel my brows draw together as a grimace twists my face.

The Raven’s only reply is yet another, ‘Nevermore.’

‘Tell me, bird, in the name of our shared God, will I see my beloved Lenore again, even if only in the next life?’ I reword my question in the hopes of an answer past ‘Nevermore’, my anger growing. I should have known better than to hope for it.

‘Leave then, fiend, if you will give me no answers. Let the word you so cherish be the word of your goodbye.’ I turn away from him; I can no longer bear to see his stoic form. ‘Leave no sign of the time you have haunted my chambers, leave no token to remind me of your maddening cry!’

The Raven did not move one inch, still he sits above my door, his shadows firmly affixed over my soul. His cry ‘Nevermore’ forever resonates in my ears and echoes within the depths of my mind.

 

 


End file.
